Innocent Days
by Sakura-chan79
Summary: Lies made up the very core of their family, and very nearly the very core of their beings.
1. Search for Lies

**Search for Lies**

Though night had long since fallen over Alfard and its inhabitants had gone to their beds in preparation for an early morning (and yet not as early as in Ahza), the country was not _completely_ asleep. Mintaka's factories—gilded with gold—still _whirred_ with activity and the night shift still went about their work in a gloomy half-awake, half-dead sort of way that no one cared about unless their duties were still undone by the time dawn broke the horizon. The barracks just outside the city were still alive with the soldiers going through night-tests in preparation for a war no one except Alfard wanted to fight. The palace was still abuzz with servants preparing for the inauguration of their future emperor.

Ahza was so quiet, the air so still, that it was almost as if the entire village was _dead_ and that their death was so loud that no one could truly sleep; Mintaka slept to the lullaby of machines and Ahza slept like the dead perhaps because they wished they _were_ dead.

Though night had long since fallen, Alfard was still wakeful. And that made all the difference, in the end.

The would-be emperor stood still as a statue in his study (perhaps as cold as one, too), his back to his redwood desk and gold-gilded chair yet his eyes seemed to not see the night-birds flying through the sky past his window. It was as though he were gazing at something very far away, an illusion no one else could see, or listening to the voice of a person who was not there and no one else could hear. And yet if anyone were to ask him what on earth he was doing at such a late hour, standing alone and doing _nothing_, he would surely say that he was mourning the death of Olgan, a death so _regrettable_, so _uncalled for_ that he simply couldn't sleep.

Of course, anyone who _really_ knew him would see through such a pathetic lie in a second.

Shanath would nod, yet his coal black eyes would flash and call him on his lie without ever saying one word. But he would have no reason to acknowledge the accusation and Shanath would leave silently, _knowing_ what a liar Baelheit was and not truly being able to_ care_ about it because wasn't Shanath a liar too? He would say the same thing (for his own reasons), too.

No one came to his study though; no one came and questioned him.

So he stood there, his hands clasped behind his back, waiting, waiting, _waiting._ He stood silently, seemingly calmly but because he didn't suffer from insomnia and he wasn't regretting the death of an emperor he had hated, his stance was rigid, as if he was worried. It wasn't as though he never worried.

The communicator sounded out then, an infernal _BEEP BEEP BEEP _that would drive anyone mad within seconds, but Baelheit didn't notice it. He snatched the communicator out of his pocket, his cool somewhat broken, thumb poised above the "answer" button. But no, no, he _couldn't_ answer right away, could he? He didn't want her to think he was really, _really_ worried about her. His thumb hovered only moments over the button before he gave in and pressed it, holding the slim, blue device close to his ear. "Yes?" he said curtly.

The voice on the other end was a little breathless. "Successful," she reported, "We've arrived in Hasseleh."

"Hasseleh," the would-be emperor repeated, letting the word flow off the tip of his tongue. "Where, exactly?"

"A village called Sheratan," she replied, a slight edge in her voice now. "Father, are you absolutely _sure_ about this? About _him_?"

Baelheit's eye twitched slightly, and he glared out the window as though she were standing right in front of him and he could glare at her herself. "Quite certain," he said coolly, "Regardless, that is none of your concern. Continue with your assignment. I want frequent reports."

There was silence on the other end, but he could hear her breathing. His heartbeat relaxed a little, knowing she was still there and _safe._ He couldn't quite justify sending her on this assignment, no matter how necessary.

"But Father--"

"No, Milliarde. I am certain."

"But he doesn't seem--"

"What people _seem_ like," Baelheit interrupted, "And what they _are _like are two _very_ different things. Outward appearances _lie_ more often than not."

Another silence. "Like mine?" she replied in a low, hard voice.

Instantly, he knew he'd said the wrong thing. He hadn't been thinking, no, not at all. He was, for once, at a loss for words. He—the most charismatic man in all of Alfard—hardly knew what to say to his own daughter. He—more than _anybody_—should have known better than to phrase it so _bluntly_. So callously. If he had the power to sway the world's past, he'd have done it in a second, right then and there. _Anything_ to fix the mistake he'd made.

"Not like you, Milliarde," he said instead, vainly trying to keep his tone cool and detached. "You're not a lie."

"_That's_ a lie," she countered softly. He almost wished she _had_ shouted at him. Another pause, full of far more tension and utter _pain_ the previous ones. "I hate you, Father."

What to say to that? "I know, Milliarde."

"I _hate_ you," she said again though her voice broke.

He thought he heard a sniffle, but _his_ Milliarde never cried. _She_ was strong, so strong. "Even so," he replied in a softer voice, laced with self-hate, "Be safe, Milliarde. It may only be Hasseleh but..._be safe!_"

"I will," she murmured, her voice a little stronger yet still slightly shaky. "It's only a little village called Sheratan, in Hasseleh—oh! Someone's coming! I'll contact you again later."

With that there was a click, no goodbye. Baelheit stared at the communicator as though it were responsible for the sudden break in connection. Her words rang in his head, as though she had shouted them from the very roof of their Mintakan home for all of Alfard—nay, for all of the _world_ to hear.

_I hate you._

"Hate me..." Baelheit murmured, glancing out the window once more. "I don't blame you, Milliarde."

_I hate me, too._

* * *

**Prompt: **1. I hate you.

I'm writing these for the **7_lies** LJ community, so all seven one-shots will have lies in there, somehow. I figured, to some degree, that lies have a lot to do with Baelheit and Milly, so I chose them as my claim. Not romantically, but hey, they need more father/daughter lovin'! How you interpret what I write about the lies is up to you, but I'd love to hear your comments and reply to them!

This actually turned out a bit differently than I intended, but I like it anyway.


	2. Hide the Truth

**Hide the Truth**

Milliarde was born in mid-morning halfway through spring. Being Alfard, the day was a sunny one and the springtime heat unknown anywhere else except perhaps in Holoholo Jungle (though it was a humid heat there as opposed to the dry heat of Alfard). The labour had been exhausting for the mother of the girl in such heat, more so than perhaps she had expected. Her body was well-nourished yet fragile, and Baelheit worried for her even in the best of times. The birth was fraught with complications and Baelheit couldn't help but fear that he might lose his wide or his daughter or _both_ before the day was done.

To his immense relief, the doctors of Alfard were wonderfully skilled in their practice and were able to help deliver Milliarde safely into the world so that both mother and daughter survived with only the vaguest memories of pain and exhaustion. That day was one of the happiest of Baelheit's life, and words alone were unable to express his sincerest gratitude to the doctors or to the heavens for saving his wife and his daughter from harm.

He was young, back then, only twenty-one. That matters, of course, if only because it sets the stage for what is to come (and, at the same time, what may never be).

Though he was young and his family was young, Baelheit loved them deeply. His wife's glimmering smile made up the stars of his sky and Milliarde's laugh was his sun. At this time, their family was made up only of love, a love so strong that he was certain nothing could ever destroy it (and in that he was right).

It was around this time just as his family was begun that Olgan—_hateful, spiteful, damned Olgan!_—set the young husband—the new father—to a new task. _Create a spiriter,_ Olgan commanded. Naturally, Baelheit had no choice but to comply. How could one defy an emperor?

At first, the experiments seemed to go well. His team tested the remains of a dead god and nothing went amiss. It was almost _too_ perfect, like a glass vase which is easily broken because of its beauty. Things which appear too perfect break easier than those with obvious flaws. You try so hard to be careful around things of great beauty so that the more you try to be careful the more likely you are to break it. Yet, surrounded by things which appear worthless, no matter how reckless you are, nothing will shatter.

Were the remains of Malpercio beautiful? Perhaps, in one way, they were.

Nights began to pass where Baelheit would not make it home from the lab. Olgan's experiment began to take up more and more of his time. He hated this from the depths of his heart but truly, the sooner he completed the task Olgan had set him, the sooner he could return to his family. But the whims of an emperor came first, always. They came even before a child (Shanath, Milliarde).

Milliarde was growing up without him and Baelheit _hated it_.

The few nights he was home, he would tuck her in to sleep. "I love you, Milliarde," he would whisper soothingly, truly.

She would stare up at him, questioning that in her heart but not being able to articulate it words. The worst part was that she didn't even need to. He could tell by the way she looked at him, just before her eyelids fluttered closed and she drifted off to sleep. She thought his love was a lie because he was never home to _show_ he loved or to say it every day.

_But it's not a lie!_ Baelheit almost wept at the side of her bed every time she looked at him like that. _I love you, Milliarde. Truly, I do. _

Milliarde did not have the nuanced grasp of language back then for she was far too young. She thought his love was a lie and doubly so when he said it to her aloud, those few nights when he came home. It broke his heart. _Damn Olgan for taking him away from his daughter!_

And when he saw her torn apart in front of him, her body in pieces and her blood staining the floor of his lab red, everything came crashing down. Something _snapped_. Suddenly, Malpercio meant _nothing_. Olgan and his whims meant _nothing. _"Yet it took the death of my family to show me that!" Baelheit hissed, falling to his knees on the floor of the lab and banging his fists down hard on the blood-covered floor. "What an absolute _fool_ I am!"

_If I really loved my family, I would have refused Olgan. This is all my fault. _

Perhaps Milliarde was _right_ to look at him with doubt in her eyes. He couldn't _not_ love her and yet somehow, over the years, that didn't change her mind about whether or not he actually _did_. The way she spoke to him and the way she looked at him _hurt_. As a father—as _her_ father—he could see the doubt that plagued her all through her youth. She thought it was a lie when he told her he loved her, and there was absolutely nothing he could do to prove it otherwise.

"I lie about many things Milliarde," he murmured to himself, long after she'd left Alfard on a ship bound for Hasseleh. "But loving you isn't one of them..."

* * *

Theme Set: #1

Prompt: #2: I love you.

I started writing this one a few days ago between Criticism and British Lit, but I didn't finish it until now, so my original idea changed about halfway through. I like how it turned out, though I had a lot of trouble with this prompt. I couldn't decide who would lie about saying "I love you" or to who they would say it as a lie, out of Baelheit or Milly, so in the end, I chose to go a different way with it. What do you think?

And yes, my new goal is apparently to make a random reference to Shanath in every one of these XD Just because it's so easy, for some odd reason. We'll see how long I can keep it up!

As always, your comments are well-loved and totally make my day! :D


	3. Happy, Nevermore

**Happy, Nevermore**

Happiness was something people chased with a fervour—perhaps obsession—that rivalled the search for love. Happiness was something the rich believed could be bought and the poor believed could be found. At least, this is how they believed in Alfard, and given the way things were, it isn't so hard to imagine this to be so. The splendour of Imperial events was noted by all the world. The laughter in the streets was not something that went unnoticed: it sustained the illusion that in general people were happy. It fooled the people themselves into believing that they were happy.

Baelheit was not fooled by the revelry, the laughter, or the smiles. You could smile and wish death upon a person at the same time. You could laugh and really want to cry, or cause someone intense pain in retaliation to something done to you. Just because you were smiling didn't mean that you were _happy_. And Baelheit knew that better than anyone.

Not that he smiled often, of course, or laughed. Not since the day his life was torn apart in a spray of blood and tears.

Once, he had been young. Young and in love, young and happy. He had a wife whom he loved dearly, a woman of such great stature that he could never have chosen another. She was his life, back then, his _raison d'être_ as some said. He loved her and he was happy with her, once upon a time. Like all fairytales, of course, the happiness wasn't meant to last. He was young back then, a foolish man who believed he could be happy all the days of his life.

With her, he was. Long ago, now. Days long gone (but not forgotten, never, never, _never_ forgotten).

And then came Milliarde, bright and beautiful as the sun itself. Happiness was all Baelheit knew back then, young as he was. He lived a world of his own, complete with his wife and his daughter, needing and wanting no one else. It was a good time, a good life for him, and the one he was best suited for, unquestionably so.

And then the Emperor tore it all apart with one cold demand. One order.

Happiness wasn't something Baelheit believed he could achieve, not anymore. Not after abandoning his family for an Emperor he had always hated. Not after watching his beloved wife die in an Afterling's blood-lust frenzy. Not after watching his daughter torn apart in a spray of blood and tears and utter fear. Happiness wasn't something Baelheit was worthy of, not any longer.

"And our plans in Diadem are going just as we had hoped," Shanath finished, rolling the report up between his fingers. "Though it appears that Milliarde and her companions arrived there not long ago. Reports indicate that she is well."

"That's good," Baelheit nodded. "I'm happy to hear that." And he was, truly. He could only be happy for Milliarde. That she was safe, that she was healthy, that she was _alive_—only for her could Baelheit feel happy for even a moment. And even then, it was for _her _that he was happy, not for himself. He himself could never be happy.

"We've also discovered the host of one of the malideiter's who is residing in Diadem," Shanath continued smoothly. "We have already taken measures to ensure its destruction."

"Excellent. Dismissed, Shanath."

No, Baelheit could never be happy for himself. He could be happy for his daughter only, knowing that she was all right. Her happiness was what made him content inside, as close to 'happy' as he would ever get, now. And, in the end, Baelheit accepted that. He did not want happiness for himself, not anymore. He was not the young, love-struck man he used to be.

Now he cared only that Milliarde was happy. That meant far more than his own happiness.

* * *

Theme Set 1; Prompt 3: "I'm happy".

This was so incredibly difficult! I had a really hard time deciding how to write this, so I don't know how well it turned out. Please leave a review and tell me what you thought! It'll totally help me out in my writing :)


	4. Lies, Lies, Lies

**Lies, Lies, **_**Lies**_

It felt like _déjà vu_, standing alone in his glittering, golden office and staring out the window into the dark sky, empty save for the occasional bird or night-cruiser floating past towards the dock in Mintaka's harbour. He clasped his hands lightly behind his back, and his eyes were filled with a blank, faraway look, apparently not really seeing anything at all. It felt like he stood in front of his window too much these days—nights, rather—with the appearance of calmness. Each night he waited for his communicator to ring, if only for a friendly _hello, how are you tonight, Father?_

But the communicator hardly ever rang, and when it did, there were no formalities like that. No inquiries were made, as if in doing so he might admit that he worried for her safety and her health and that just wasn't acceptable. He couldn't show his concern for her, she wouldn't accept his concern for her, and she would never admit concern for him. It was like a dance to avoid saying the things he really wanted her know. He loved Milliarde _so damn much_ and he just couldn't tell her that. That's not the way their relationship worked. Not anymore.

Their relationship was built on lies and cemented with half-truths. The truth wasn't something you could suddenly use in a relationship where truth had never been spoken before. So he kept his concern bottled up inside where she would never know it existed and he kept it out of his voice so that she could never hear it underscoring the instructions he gave her when she _did _call. It was a lie in the worst sense, to Baelheit. A lie made by the denial of reality.

It _hurt_ that he couldn't tell her how much he worried about her.

Or about how much he loved her.

But he couldn't have trusted anyone else with this mission. Certainly not Shanath. The man was as slippery as a snake, and as secretive as one too. And risky as it was—as _everything _was when associating with Shanath—Baelheit needed his political prowess with him in Alfard. It would be much more difficult to secure the throne without Shanath here to spy and plant the seeds of Baelheit's ascension where they would be most useful. Snake though he was, Baelheit couldn't possibly part with Shanath. Not yet.

None of his Dark Servicemen were capable of the job: they were not strong enough of will or raw strength to stand against a malideiter. He couldn't deny the strength of one bonded to the dark god, not after having seen their terrible strength for himself so many years ago. The bloodlust lay quiet within the boy now, but it would undoubtedly surface soon and no mere soldier could ever hope to stand against _that_ and survive, much less win.

Nor could Baelheit take anyone from the army—not Giacomo or any of the other promising young soldiers and commanders. Verus had a vice-grip on the army, and he would know the moment Baelheit picked out a soldier or two. Never would Baelheit be able to fully trust the regular army of Alfard, not so long as Verus lived and maintained his hold on the army. He could use them only for unimportant missions. Sending a contingent to Sadal Suud or Diadem along with some Dark Servicemen to secure the area, yes, that would be fine. But it was out of the question to use anyone from the army to hunt down a malideiter and dispose of him. He couldn't afford to alert Verus of _anything_ he did, not even the most mundane thing. Anything could be used against him, and Verus wasn't one to quake at the thought of using any piece of information he could.

No, there were precious few people Baelheit could trust. He could name them off on one hand and still have three fingers left over.

In Alfard particularly, it was a gamble to trust. Political intrigues and assassinations were common, and usually came about because of misplaced trust. The people of Alfard were exceptional actors, and Baelheit was the first and foremost among them. He had survived this long only because he trusted few during his life, and kept that trust well hidden from the prying eyes and ears of others. Your own servants could be bought to report on your activities or your associates might pick up on patterns in the way you spoke or behaved if you allowed your trust to be obvious.

Baelheit was subtle and kept his trust in others well hidden the few times he allowed himself the luxury.

The communicator rang, its sound muffled with a violent vibration in his pocket. Forced out of his trance-like state, Baelheit slipped his hand between the silky fabric of his pants and pulled out the sleek, blue device, hitting a flashing button and raising it to his ear, pushing stray hairs out of the way. "Yes?"

There was no immediate answer on the other end. He could hear muffled sniffling, and his heart constricted at the thought of his beloved daughter crying. But he maintained his stoic indifference, pretending he couldn't hear her pain and that it wasn't tearing him apart inside. Another lie, nonverbal as it was. Another lie heaped upon all the others, a pile so high now that it was a wonder that he could remember every lie he'd ever committed—verbal and otherwise.

"Milliarde," he prompted, voice cool, impatient. He had all the time in the world, for her especially, but she couldn't know that. It's just the way things were.

"I hate you, Father," she hissed through the communicator, her voice raspy. Her sniffling seemed to have increased, though her words were incredibly clear to Baelheit, as though she stood right in front of him.

"If that is all you have called to say..." Baelheit began, his voice terse.

"I will never forgive you, Father," she murmured. "I can't. I can't forgive you for ordering me on this mission."

"This isn't about forgiveness," Baelheit said shortly. "This is about getting your job done."

"You want to kill an innocent boy!" she cried. The sniffling and sobbing would haunt him, he knew. He couldn't block it out. He would never forget it. "Father, I'll never forgive you for that!"

"It's for the good of the world," he replied. And it _was_. Why couldn't she see that? Malideiters shouldn't even _exist_. It was because of them (him) that she had no mother and that she herself was more than half robot herself. "I don't do this because I _want_ to, Milliarde. I do this—ordering you on this mission, killing innocent boys—because I _have_ to, for the good of the world."

"There must be another way."

"There is not."

She didn't answer right away. Her sobbing was still in the background, only slightly more under control. He could picture her shaking her head in defiance, refusing to accept what they both knew was the truth. When she spoke again, her voice was more controlled and less raspy, with a note of uncertainty underneath it all.

"I'll never forgive you, Father. Never."

* * *

Theme Set # 1

Prompt # 4: I'll never forgive you.

I'm pretty proud of this one. I had issues coming up with a title, and I'm still not sure if I'm satisfied with it, but I think it works nicely. As always, comments make my day!


	5. Transparency

**Transparency **

"Is something the matter, sir? You're looking quite ill, if I may say so."

He looked up, loose strands of cinnamon-coloured hair still hanging over his piercing eyes, momentarily obscuring the annoyance that surfaced within them. He brushed them aside slowly, his long, thin fingers quite steady. Ill. What an astute observation to make. He suppressed a cold retort, knew he had to for so many reasons. It wouldn't do to antagonize Shanath, not now, not at this point. He needed him still.

"I'm fine."

He said no more, had no more to say, and all Shanath could do was nod. The dark man lifted the page up again and continued to read off the reports in a monotonous voice. Baelheit listened only a little—petitions from Ahza didn't matter, thinly-veiled insults from Verus didn't matter. Demands by the Mintakan nobility were worthless and complaints from the Senators were useless being directed at him; he had no intention of serving their whims, and especially not today. _Nothing_ mattered today, perhaps not ever.

What rankled at Baelheit the most was that Shanath _knew_ the significance of today, and that he _still_ had the audacity to ask if he was feeling well. His fingers flexed slightly, longing to reach out and throttle all the air from Shanath's neck, and whisper _No, Shanath, I'm _not_ feeling well. Let me show just how unwell I'm feeling today._

He couldn't do that, though. He needed Shanath (for many reasons).

And Shanath knew that. Used it to his advantage whenever the opportunity arose.

So when he was left alone and in peace once more, Baelheit sighed a little in relief. When he was alone, with only Daimon—_dear, sweet Daimon_—to hear his cries and listen to his silent woes, he allowed himself to drop his usual façade in favour of indulging his grief for one day out of the year. But Daimon could only offer so much comfort, and though he loved her dearly, she had no arms to wrap around him, no physical body for him to cling to, no shoulder on which he could cry. She existed within him, after all, a spirit bound to his heart. Her comfort was warm, welling up in his chest but it wasn't quite the same as having someone beside him physically and sharing in his pain.

And Milliarde was thousands of miles away, gallivanting around with a remnant of his last experiment, deluding herself into thinking that she was helping to save the world. Surely she remembered what today was. Even that _thing_ couldn't be enough of a distraction to make her forget. Unconsciously, Baelheit's hand curled into a fist, his lips pulling into a thin line, his eyes reflecting a fire of determination amid the grief.

He _would_ make amends for his mistakes.

"I'm fine," he murmured again to the empty room. His eyes stung. "I've never felt better."

* * *

Theme Set: #1, Prompt #5: I feel fine.

This was sitting on my hard-drive half-written for like...two months. I know, Sakura is a lazy author. I had a lot of trouble with this one, actually, so I hope you like it anyhow! Just two more prompts to go before the challenge is finished! Please leave a review if you feel so inclined :) I do love to hear from you all!


	6. Double Entendre

**Double Entendre **

"You may withdraw now, Shanath."

His voice was cold and level, his eyes distant, as though he was seeing a vision for his eyes alone. In one sense, that was exactly what was happening. Still, Baelheit knew without really seeing it that Shanath's expression had darkened, his eyes narrowed and his mouth pulled into a tight line of disapproval. Baelheit knew how Shanath hated to be interrupted and how he despised a sudden, unexplained dismissal. In fact, he despised being dismissed at all, preferring to leave on his own terms.

But Baelheit was in charge. He couldn't deny that he needed Shanath, but it nevertheless remained the case that Shanath was a mere subordinate and had no choice but to do as Baelheit ordered or risk ruining his (mostly) impeccable reputation. It was not (after all) though he faked it with admirable ease.

It was a few moments before Baelheit's gaze returned to a proper focus and he realized that Shanath had not moved from his position in the middle of the room. Surrounded by gold and crystal with a sun under his feet, he stood out like an oil stain. He had stopped speaking and had not yet moved a muscle. He was staring hard at Baelheit.

"Withdraw."

The man continued to glower, his stiff stance betraying his anger at Baelheit. An ever present anger, as it were, not something unknown to the Emperor. "May I inquire as to the _why_ of this dismissal, Excellency?" he hissed softly, eyes blazing. He only ever used proper courtly terms when he was angry. When he wished to express his anger. Baelheit ignored that though. He let the man do as he pleased only so that he would remain of some use. Ruling really was all about keeping others happy, as much as was possible.

Yet he had the nerve to question his superior. His Emperor. An admirable man indeed. Still, his impertinence required no response. Baelheit gestured with his hand towards the golden doors at the other end of the room. Shanath did not move. He made no sound, no indication that he might heed Baelheit's orders. He had grown arrogant, this man, if he had not already been so before. "I'm not feeling well," Baelheit growled, not caring that Shanath would see his words for the lie they were. For the sign of defeat they were. "Withdraw."

And of course, Shanath _would_ have the audacity to smile then. "Is that so? Then perhaps I should fetch you something soothing, Excellency...?"

"That won't be necessary," Baelheit interrupted.

Shanath was quiet for a moment. "Very well," he murmured, bowing very properly at the waist. He said no more, apparently bored of pushing Baelheit's buttons. The man turned sharply and left with a brisk walk, snapping his fingers in the general direction of his daughter who gathered up her ball and followed Shanath out of the room. The double doors swung shut with a loud and echoing _clang._ Even from a distance, Baelheit could discern his reflection.

The room seemed oddly empty without Shanath's droning voice to fill its corner's, but now was not the time to give in to loneliness. Not when so many of his plans were coming into fruition so perfectly. Loneliness was a different matter entirely, to be dealt with when he was alone (in his home, not the palace, at night, beside his bed, in bed). Was Milliarde lonely? He hoped not. Wished he could do something for her if she were. Wondered if she knew he was.

Wished she would do something for him.

_Wishing can only accomplish so much,_ Daimon whispered, voice sweet.

"How could I do that to her?" Baelheit murmured in response, voice hard.

_Progress requires sacrifice, my heart, _Daimon reminded him, voice sweet.

"She's my daughter!" Baelheit hissed in response, voice heated.

_She's your daughter, _Daimon agreed, voice sweetly sad.

"I'm a liar," Baelheit groaned in response, voice breaking. "I'm a liar."

_You're an Emperor, _Daimon said, voice sweet yet firm.

"I hope she's all right," Baelheit whispered, voice fervent. "By the gods, I hope she's safe."

_You can do nothing for her, not now, _Daimon chided, voice sweet and sympathetic. _It is too late, you've played your pieces. Now, all will draw to a close, her part too. _A pause. _It is too late. _

"I'm not feeling well."

* * *

Theme Set #1

Prompt #6 - "I'm not feeling well"

I lost the rough draft to this about a month ago, and only just found it yesterday, so I figured I'd finish writing it. The end was totally unplanned, so what did you think of Daimon's voice?


	7. My Last Lie

**My Last Lie**

Hot.

It was hot, thick and ceaseless, sticky on his hand. He heaved a breath, then another, and then another. He didn't remember falling to his knees, but he must have because now he was hunched over on the floor, his own blood pooling around him like an over-turned can of red paint. He dared not move his hand from the wound, dared not try to stand or sit up. He was losing strength rapidly, was already weakened from the battle with his past.

_You fought well_, Daimon whispered, a ghostly sense of sorrow invading his heart. Or maybe it wasn't invading at all—maybe it was simply his _own_ sorrow, magnified a thousand times more with her presence. Her own sorrow for her own losses and failures intertwining with his, an invasion that wasn't completely unwanted or unwelcome. He was glad, in a sense, that he need not die alone.

He was dimly aware of Verus brushing past him brusquely, as though the imminent death of his strongest opponent of all meant nothing to him. Perhaps it didn't after all, but such details were of no matter to Baelheit, whose life's blood was seeping out onto the floor from a backstabbing coward's blade. He hadn't expected to live very long after lifting Tarazed into the Sky, knowing full well that raising his golden nation and destroying all others would leave him as the most hated person in the world. Certainly there would be few, in the end, who would love him for it.

He had always known he would die shortly after raising Tarazed, knew his days were numbered as soon as he gave the order to raise it into the Sky. But he did so anyway because there was no turning back now, no way to return to the way things had been. He could not stop what he had started so many years ago, and frankly, he had no desire to stop. It was, after all, for the better.

You couldn't rely on the power of dead gods forever. The only reliable thing in the world was Man and His creations.

Milliarde was crying, holding him in her arms, and ordering him not to die and leave her alone. "You can't die," she sobbed. "You can't..."

As if he had a choice in the matter.

"I won't," Baelheit said softly, his voice sounding scratchy and strained even to his own ears. "I won't leave you, Milliarde."

She held him closer, her tears falling uncontrollably. Shanath would laugh, he knew, at this tragic reunion of father and daughter if he were still here. He too had known the outcome of Baelheit's choices.

His eyes fluttered closed, and he took a deep breath, relishing in the feel of Daimon in his heart and Milliarde's arms around him. It felt like he was home, finally, after a long journey to hell and back. It was home as he hadn't felt it in the years since his wife's death and Milliarde's crippling. It was as though they were all together again, whole and complete. He smiled, and loosened his hold over his wound, no longer pretending to dam the flow of blood.

"When have I ever lied to you, Milliarde?"

* * *

And so we come to the end! It's been an interesting ride, wouldn't you say? It's taken me way too long to finish, but I really enjoyed exploring Baelheit's character this way. He's a character full of twists and turns I think, and his lies aren't always clear-cut or black and white, or even have just one motivation or only one end to achieve. I hope you enjoyed the last piece! :) Reviews would make me very happy!

Theme Set: #1

Prompt: #7 - I never lie.


End file.
